


Care Package

by altilis



Series: Kinky Vulcan Liaisons [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Phone Sex, Pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/altilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T'Pring makes her first move when Spock returns to the Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care Package

Two weeks had passed into Spock's third year, and Spock had already questioned whether he wanted to talk to T'Pring while he was on Earth. He liked things to have one definitive relation to Earth or Vulcan, but not both, he reasoned, and to contact her here would be to open himself up to the uncertainty of their relationship amongst the energetic bustle of Starfleet - and to admit that they might again have that closeness they fostered in Spain several years back.

When they had that confrontation on the eve of his flight to Earth, Spock had told himself that was as improbable, if not impossible, given their current career trajectories. Among other things.

Then, when he returned to his room late in the evening after a chess match, a sealed package waited for him outside the door. It came with no letter, no indication for the password, so it sat on Spock's bed, unopened, for at least half an hour. He set aside his book bag, took off his jacket, washed his face, checked his messages, ate a snack, and all throughout mulled on the code, the numbers flashing slowly on the top of the box.

 _You overthink things,_ she had told him many times, and Spock could almost hear her words now. With this in mind, he tried the first sequence: one, two, three, four.

The box clicked open.

From the plain interior Spock took out a scroll of thick vanilla paper, rolled and tied in the ancient ways, and a smaller black box. He read the scroll first: a note hand-painted by T'Pring, stylized with her thin spirals and sweeping lines that reminded him of a calligraphy class in a time mostly forgotten.

 _Spock_ , it read, _In the event that you are well and untroubled, send a communication that this is so. If you are not, and if by chance you have discovered you are lusting after your advisor again, open the box, wear what is contained, and then send an appropriate communication_.

The mention of Pike made his chest tighten after two weeks of blissful contentment, mostly engineered through deliberate avoidance of the Command classrooms and the appropriate instructor offices. Like he had told T'Pring this past summer, he probably would have faltered sooner or later, and suffered under his emotions for it.

He set the scroll aside next to him on the bed and opened the smaller box. The exterior was fashioned from a dark, black wood, finished and varnished with smooth corners, but inside, with nothing but velvet lining to cushion it, lay a thin, elastic piece of rubber, like a fingerless glove that covered only half the palm. He had seen it once in a shop in the Artist's Quarter he would near admit to being near.

Spock swallowed quietly, staring at it. The middle of the week, problem sets due throughout the next few days, a meeting tomorrow - dare he waste time on his own indulgence?

He settled against his pillows towards the front of his bed, still gingerly holding the box in one hand. His door was locked. No company expected. A moment of hesitation, and then he slipped the glove over the fingers of his left hand. It warmed slowly, gradually until he can barely feel the material against his skin, and then suddenly it began to hum.

The feeling was very - pleasant.

As the glove hummed along, Spock slumped back against his pillows, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. Minutes passed as his skin heated and his trousers tightened; Spock stripped off his clothes and discarded them off to the side, pausing to fish his communicator out of his trousers.

He hadn't secured the private line yet, but T'Pring had requested a message - who was he to deny her one?

It took longer than usual, with a few missed placed touches, to activate the video recording on his communicator, but the massage of the glove dulls the pain of his mistakes (for the whole day, not only this evening).

"T'Pring," he said, balancing the communicator on the mattress next to him so that the camera angled up, "this is an - unusual - gift that you have sent me…and while I appreciate your attempt to provide a solution -"

The gentle soothing hum of the glove switched to a sudden electric jolt, biting into his nerves with an overwhelming ferocity, enough to make him cry out and arch up where he lay. Both hands gripped tight at the sheets. His arms shook with the tight strength activated all at once.

He wasn't sure how long it continued, unable to focus or count the loud heartbeats in his ears, when finally the shock stopped and the low, warm hum resumed.

Spock lay there, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard, until the sharp tingle in his nerves subsided and he gathered enough sense to pull the glove from his hand. Flexing his fingers, he glanced down at the communicator that still watched him from its spot on the bed. In his mind's eye he could imagine T'Pring watching this later, just as cold and unaffected despite his own display.

"Interesting," he admitted aloud, massaging one hand over the other, never looking away from the communicator. "But are these the only orders you will give me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Also at [Dreamwidth](http://altilis.dreamwidth.org/40522.html).


End file.
